Out of the Past III: Making Repairs
by Layla2
Summary: Time for the cousins Rabb to make some repairs....
1. Chapter 1

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Chesapeake coast   
East of Fredericksburg, VA   
Thursday, April 17   
1720 local   
  
  
She wasn't home.   
  
Impossible.   
  
She had to be home. Mac's urging had finally gotten to him, and he'd given in and taken leave. He'd prepared to face her, spending long hours contemplating all that had passed. He was ready to work things out. He'd even done a bit of Webb-esque checking to make sure he'd catch her at home.   
  
But she was gone.   
  
He turned around, dejectedly making his way back to his 'Vette... and then he heard it. The sound was unmistakable, and coming from somewhere to his left and below.   
  
Following the paved drive down around the corner of the house, he allowed himself a grin. He should've known. After all, if she wasn't answering the door, and the sound of the Spencer Davis Group's "Gimme Some Lovin'" was blaring from nearby, there was only one conclusion to make.   
  
CD was playing with cars again.   
  
Sure enough, one of the two double garage doors was open, letting the music escape. Harm leaned on the doorframe, his grin getting wider as he noticed more and more about the garage.   
  
In the back, several vehicles were covered with drop cloths; judging by the shapes, there was a motorcycle of the bullet-bike variety, a Porsche of some variety, and an open-wheel Formula racecar. Her Benz sedan was parked on the other side of the garage, behind the second door. Immediately in front of him was the classic 356 Speedster, its rear engine hatch propped open and a pair of jean-covered legs sticking out from underneath in the vicinity of the muffler. Nearby was a large rolling toolbox, although a good deal of its contents had to be on the floor next to the car, and a portable radio, now loudly blaring Ray Charles' "Hit the Road, Jack".   
  
Harm watched in amusement as a grease-smeared hand reached out from underneath the car and proceeded to fumble around in the pile of tools. He walked over, waiting for his presence to be noticed.   
  
The hand continued to fumble around, until it found Harm's shoe. It stopped, then felt around a little, as if to confirm that yes, that was a shoe, foot included. It then moved again, fumbling to turn down the volume on the radio.   
  
Finally, Harm looked down in amusement as his cousin rolled the 'creeper' she was laying on out from under the car. She squinted up at him, then sat up, grabbing for a rag, muttering, "Gottverdammt...."   
  
"Nice to see you too, Mercedes," Harm replied wryly. "Love the fashion statement."   
  
"Oh, shut up. The car doesn't give a crap what I look like," she shot back automatically.   
  
Harm glanced over his cousin, studying her appearance. Low-slung, well-worn and faded blue jeans, a scuffed-up pair of boat shoes, and a men's' sleeveless undershirt was all she wore; her long hair was in a snug braid, probably so it'd stay out of the way. Shirt, arms, and face were all liberally smudged with oil, grease, and dirt. "Yeah, well, good thing."   
  
"Oh, stuff it up your tailpipe," she said, going to her workbench, retrieving a bottle of ice water and taking a long drink. "Are you here for a reason, or did someone finally give you that much-needed kick in the tookis?"   
  
"You said you'd call me. It's been three months, CD."   
  
"Three very busy months. Sorry." She dropped on to one of the metal stools next to the bench.   
  
He did the same, pulling one around to face her. "Busy here or busy work?"   
  
She took another long drink. "Work. This is the first weekend off I've had since mid-February."   
  
"You're kidding." Harm's eyebrows raised in disbelief.   
  
CD paused, giving him a sideways look. "I wasn't avoiding you, if that's what you're asking."   
  
"I wasn't, but that's good to know."   
  
She nodded. "Yeah, the caseload's been insane. If I'm not at a scene, I'm in the lab. If I'm not in the lab, I'm testifying in court...." Her voice trailed off. "So. I ask again. Why are you here?"   
  
He shrugged. "Mac's been bugging me to talk to you, and I was wondering what's going on since I hadn't heard from you."   
  
CD leaned back against the workbench, studying him briefly, before looking back over at the Speedster. "Lola, baby, your muffler's gonna have to wait a while," she announced, before turning back to Harm. "Got some time?"   
  
Harm grinned. "The whole weekend, plus Monday."   
  
"Lord help me," she replied, grinning back. "Now I know I'm gonna need that beer." 


	2. Chapter 2

Harm had moved his car into the garage while Mercedes grabbed a quick shower. Now the both sat on the deck outside her living room, beverage in hand, Harm relaxing in a wooden deck chair, Mercedes perched on the deck railing.   
  
"So..." he began.   
  
"So..." she replied.   
  
And awkward silence fell for a moment, until CD sighed, laughing a bit. "Well, this is going well. Two of the most closed-off people in the world trying to have a meaningful conversation... and failing miserably."   
  
Harm grinned weakly. "Yeah, kinda pathetic isn't it?"   
  
CD raised her bottle in acknowledgement. "A-men, cousin," she agreed, taking a long swig of her beer. "Well, I suppose anyplace is good to start with. How's your brother doing?"   
  
"Okay, but it's been a little rough for him, I think. He still misses Russia."   
  
"Yeah, I can kinda relate," she said, an understanding smile on her face. "No matter where you go or how comfortable you get, nothing ever quite replaces home."   
  
Harm looked up at her. "I guess you'd understand that better than I would. Anyway, we're trying to find him a place of his own, and a job. I think he's getting a little tired of sharing my place."   
  
CD snorted. "Gee, I can't imagine why," she said sarcastically.   
  
"And what exactly do you mean by that?"   
  
"You've been known to be a tad overprotective."   
  
"Oh, come on, Mercedes--"   
  
She leveled a sharp glare at him. "Oh, come on, nothing. You know I'm right."   
  
He shrugged. "I just don't want him getting hurt."   
  
"Harm," she said gently, "sometimes that's the only way people can learn."   
  
He looked at her for a long moment. "Dammit, I hate when you're right."   
  
She grinned weakly. "Me, too, sometimes," she replied, propping a knee up on the rail where she sat.   
  
"Oh really?"   
  
"Yes, really," she shot back, affronted, as Harm gave her a disbelieving look. "At work, genius," she snapped.   
  
Well, this was a new experience, Harm thought to himself. Only he could manage to stick his foot in his mouth without actually saying anything. "Sorry. I didn't think about that."   
  
"Ach, macht nichts," she replied with a dismissive wave. "I'm too sensitive about the damn job anyway."   
  
"That's because you take everything personally, CD. You always have," Harm pointed out.   
  
"And you don't?" she fired back.   
  
Harm smiled, tipping his head in acknowledgement. "Point." He took a long drink of his beer before continuing. "So... you don't mind having a guest for the weekend?"   
  
"Nah... Although I'll warn you, there's a chance I may get called in to work. If something goes to hell..." she trailed off, shrugging.   
  
"No problem. Did you have any plans?"   
  
"Besides playing with the big noisy toys downstairs, no," she said, smiling. "Hey, that reminds me. Whatever happened to that old Stearman Grosstante Sarah was keeping for you? Did you ever get it fixed up?"   
  
"Oh yeah, she's a beauty. I keep her out in Leesburg... I'll have to take you up sometime."   
  
"Definitely," she replied. "I'd love to go barnstorming in that thing sometime. Speaking of time, when'd you find the time to restore it?"   
  
Harm's expression darkened slightly. "After the crash in '91. I got out of the hospital, and went and stayed with Grandma... I guess I got bored, and just went out and started working on it."   
  
"Oh," CD replied, unsure of what to say next. Instead, she settled for fidgeting with the label on the beer bottle.   
  
Harm watched her, studying her. Now was as good a time as any, seeing as how she'd inadvertently brought up the subject. "What'd you do after your crash?" he asked quietly.   
  
Her hands stilled immediately, and she stayed unmoving for a long moment. Finally, she looked away, gazing out over the water at the setting sun. "Not much," she said quietly. "I was in the hospital for about 8 months, then I moved here and started college. The university hospital had a good burn treatment unit, so I was able to start classes early and go to therapy in the evenings."   
  
"Why forensics?"   
  
"I wanted answers... you know, with the accident. The governing body for the racing series brought in a forensic team to investigate, since two drivers died. They were the only ones who gave me any of the answers I was looking for."   
  
"Makes sense," Harm said quietly, internally debating his next question. Should he....? "CD... If I can ask.... what-- what was the wreck like?"   
  
She finally turned back to face him, her eyes clouded. "What was your ramp strike like?" she shot back.   
  
Surprising them both, he answered. "It was all a bit surreal, almost like it was happening in slow motion. I just felt the very beginning of the impact and then pulled the eject handle. Next I knew, I came crashing down on to the deck, right in the middle of the wreckage. Next thing I remember after that was waking up in the hospital."   
  
Mercedes was silent for a long moment, then dropped to her feet. "Follow me," was all she said as she headed back into the house.   
  
Harm did so, watching her retrieve a key from the piano bench before heading back into the hallway that led to the bedrooms and her office. Mystified, he followed her.   
  
She stopped at the first door on the left, the only one where he didn't know what was behind it. Her hand shook slightly as she unlocked the door, reaching inside to flip on the lights. "Welcome to my past," she said softly, moving aside to let him in.   
  
Harm stepped in, awed. Gleaming trophies of all shapes and sizes filled the shelves, along with framed photos and other memorabilia. A driving suit was neatly preserved in a shadowbox display, and several helmets were enclosed in protective Plexiglas display boxes. The only furniture in the room was a pair of overstuffed chairs facing a VCR and good-sized TV.   
  
Harm looked at Mercedes in astonishment, speechless. "I never could bring myself to get rid of all this," she said quietly, "but it was only when I moved here that I could stand to unpack it. It just didn't seem fair to leave it all to rot away in boxes."   
  
"Mercedes--"   
  
She held up a hand, cutting him off. "No. Stop. You wanted to know, so shut up and listen. You can ask questions later." She moved to one of the lower shelves, pulling out a well-organized box of videotapes. She removed one and crossed to the VCR. "You wanted to know what the crash was like. Well, since it was a race in a fairly prominent series, it was being broadcast on TV." The TV came on to an empty blue screen as she put the tape in to play. "I don't need to tell you, Harm. I can show you," she finished, tossing him the remote as she left the room. "I'll be downstairs in the garage when you're finished."   
  
The door closed quietly behind her, and Harm found himself staring at the remote control in his lap as if the thing might explode. Then, hesitantly, he picked it up, pressed the play button, and mentally prepared to watch his cousin's life go up in flames. 


End file.
